I'm officially due September 27. Which will be good, because I'll be able to get things on a roll at school, then take off hopefully through the Christmas break. Violet knows, and has even started telling people herself (she announced to her teacher at school that "Mommy has a baby in her tummy"). Although I'm not quite sure she understands what it means for her. She wants a sister (no surprise) and wants to name the baby Violet (shocker). The other day she asked if the baby had arms (yes), and if germs make the baby yucky (no). We've started amping up our "sharing" conversations.
Some of you may remember how I officially found out I was pregnant with Violet. It was at the university health center, where I imagine a positive result on that particular test is not usually greeted with great joy. Talk about downplaying one of my life's biggest moments!
Well, this time around was just as strange.
Let me preface this story by saying that Matt and I have been trying to get pregnant for a long time. Much longer than we tried with Violet. Like, make a doctor's appointment because something is definitely wrong with me long time. Over Christmas we went though our first round of Clomid, the first official step on the road of infertility. It's a long, messy story that I would love to share with you some other time. All you really need to know right now is that our first round of Clomid was stressful and apparently unsuccessful. Awesome.
On top of that, I was feeling awful. It didn't take too long back in the classroom for me to catch some crud. Finally I couldn't deal with it and I called in and promptly drove myself to the local immediate care. I was the first customer of the day. I basically told them I was a teacher and begged for drugs. They agreed to give me some antibiotics and a steroid shot, but I'd have to take a pregnancy test first, just to be safe.
I avoid pregnancy tests. They are just a bummer. Besides, I already knew the Clomid hadn't worked. But whatever. A teeny, tiny part of me hoped, but the rational part of me already knew I'd be seeing the no-nonsense, Germanesque nurse striding in with her shot, ready to yank down my drawers and stick the needle in my butt. Which she did. Proving to me definitively what I already knew. I wasn't pregnant. But at least I'd start feeling better, right?
I was home all of five minutes before the phone rang. It was the doctor at the immediate care. Sheepishly she explained that they really needed me to come back in. Apparently something had gone wrong with the pregnancy test. Probably nothing, a false positive. The nurse had forgotten to throw the test away after the three minute mark, and when she came back later to do it, something had shown up. But not to worry, just come on in for the blood test, it would be fine.
And did part of me start hoping again? Perhaps. But the bigger, sicker part of me was just annoyed. And frankly, a little nervous. My butt was still sore from that shot they gave me that is only for people who aren't pregnant. So regardless, this couldn't end well, could it?
Fifteen minutes of waiting, and not one but three medical staff come through the door. Never a good sign. "So..." says the doctor... "you're pregnant...."
The Clomid worked, but not until after bloodwork came back negative. As it turns out, I was all of two weeks pregnant. No wonder this pregnancy test didn't register anything the first time around. And as it turns out, that steroid shot is the same one they give pregnant women to help mature a baby's lungs in case of early delivery. They were very nice and called my OB, sent over all my medical records and info. Still, not the ideal way to find out. In fact, I had trouble even believing it was true until we finally had an ultra sound three weeks later.
So it's been an odd start. But now that I'm in my second trimester and we've seen the little bean jumping around on the ultrasound and everything looks great and I'm feeling great again, it's all sunk in and we are thrilled. The baby bump is out and proud!
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